


eames on food

by duckgirlie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: ae_match, M/M, complete food porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckgirlie/pseuds/duckgirlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is a massive food network fan, and Eames is their newest superstar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You guys, I have been _massively spoiled_ by all the awesome art [](http://uncafe.livejournal.com/profile)[**uncafe**](http://uncafe.livejournal.com/) has done for this. And thank you very much to [](http://immoral-crow.livejournal.com/profile)[**immoral_crow**](http://immoral-crow.livejournal.com/) for betaing/kicking about ideas.

 

It was about two hours till the end of the day when Arthur’s phone beeped.

_Okay, I’m switching food network night to Friday._

He frowned and texted Ariadne back.

_I thought the whole point of food network night was you staring at Nigella and me staring at cake._

_It was. But believe me, you won’t regret the change. I’ll see you tonight._

 

*****

 

Ariadne showed up at exactly 7.15, just like every past food network night, even though it was Friday instead of Tuesday. She handed Arthur a bottle of wine and flopped down on the couch.

He followed her into the tv room.

“So, why the sudden change? Don’t tell me Nigella’s stopped doing it for you.”

“She’s in re-runs.” Ariadne made grabby-hands at Arthur until he rolled his eyes and poured her a glass of wine. “Which would be fine, but then I ran out of space on my DVR last week and had to actually watch the commercials, and I saw a new show was about to start. I figured I could take a few weeks off from Nigella.”

He raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t going to be like, _Top Chef: Guam_ , or anything, is it? I think I’ve had enough of subtle regional variations on that one.”

“Just watch.”

She picked up his remote and aimed it at the tv. They had to sit through a couple of terrible commercials on mute before the network logo flashed up and Ariadne switched the volume back on.

On screen, there was the usual flashing of fire and saucepans, the flicking of a knife across a chopping board of herbs, and a pair of hands rubbing some kind of marinade into plump chicken breasts. Finally, the camera stilled, and settled on a single word across the screen.

eames. All lower-case.

Arthur turned back to Ariadne, about to challenge her when she lifted up a hand.

“Trust me. If you aren’t convinced by the first break, we’ll never speak of this again.”

He turned back to the tv and nearly choked on his wine.

On-screen, a man about his age was leaning against a countertop in a grey t-shirt and jeans. He had an apron wound around his waist with a dishcloth folded over it. His sleeves were straining at the seams to contain his upper arms, and pretty much every bit of exposed skin seemed to have a flash of ink on it.

He was basically the most gorgeous thing Arthur’d seen in his entire life.

Next to him, Ariadne was grinning widely. “And you haven’t even seen him cook yet!”

“Right. I know it might seem kind of funny to start the show off with the end of the meal, but seeing as there are so many people who’ll throw on a full roast dinner at the drop of a hat but’ll break out in a cold sweat when you ask them what’s for afters, it seemed fitting. Desserts are terrifying, and rightly so. Of anything in the kitchen, they’re the closest to science, the easiest thing to completely balls up.”

His voice was soft and capable and English. He grinned at the audience and clapped his hands together.

“Right. Lets get started.”

Over the next hour, Eames made a perfect Victoria sponge, a tiramisu, and a lemon meringue pie. Despite a kitchenaid being clearly visible on the countertop, he never went near it, creaming the butter and sugar and whipping the eggs all by hand. He spoke at length about the need for castor instead of granulated sugar while he was mixing the cake, and probably said something about egg whites while he was whisking, but Arthur was too distracted by the flexing of his biceps as he alternated between whisking with his wrist and his elbow.

Aside from when she was re-filling his glass and he managed to throw her a quick ‘thanks’, Arthur hadn’t looked at Ariadne once during the show.

Finally, Eames placed the three desserts on the counter, and beckoned the camera a little closer.

“Cake and pie are all very well and good, but there’s something about all this whipped mascarpone that just does _things_ to me. Now obviously if you’re making this for anyone, you’re not going to do what I’m about to do – far too unhygienic – but seeing as it’s just me and the camera here...”

And then he picked up _an entire handful_ of tiramisu and raised it to his mouth, wrapping his lips around all four of his fingers at once. It took him a moment to lick everything off, and he slowly pulled his fingers out with an audible ‘pop’. He grinned at the camera, licking his lips to claim the last couple of stray crumbs.

“See you next week.”

It took Arthur a couple of seconds to realise someone had switched the tv off. He turned to Ariadne, a slightly dazed look on his face.

She laughed. “I know, right?”

*****

He tried to stop himself, but the first thing Arthur did once Ariadne left was check all his foodie blogs.

There were fourteen posts about how hot Eames was, three complaining that he spent so long beating eggs that he had to rush slightly through a few steps of other recipes, and two English bloggers with condescending posts along the lines of ‘oh, are you just getting series one now? Poor things, he’s been on over here for simply _ages_.’

One of them mentioned that they were in for a treat in the coming weeks, and Arthur had to sit on his hands to stop himself googling the upcoming episodes. Ariadne would never forgive him.

*****

The next Friday, Ariadne showed up with two bottles of wine – “so we can match to whatever he’s cooking, obviously” – and a giant chocolate mousse her roommate had made.

“You’ll only have frozen yogurt, I know you. And morally, I object to that.”

That night, Eames was taking about minimal preparation.

“Not saying these are all one-pan meals, because that’s been done by other – better – people, and if you want that, you can get it from them. But these are all things you can cook with people in the kitchen, that you can carry on a conversation during. Not like risotto, basically. Not that risotto isn’t one of the most amazing things in the world, and that we won’t be doing that later, but for tonight, we’re going low-effort, big impact.”

Arthur glanced over at his freezer for a second before glaring at Ariadne and opening up the chocolate mousse. He was going to have to work the gym in tomorrow, somehow.

On screen, Eames was laying out the ingredients for several recipes.

“I know this looks a little pricey, alright? But these aren’t really everyday things to cook, so it’s okay to bump up the price tag a little. Not that you have to keep it for special occasions either. Keep an eye out in your supermarket, stuff goes on deal all the time, especially if it’s nearing its sell-by date, but if you’re going to cook it that night, that won’t be an issue, will it?”

There was a tiny hint of bandage peeking out from under Eames’ sleeve, and every couple of minutes, he reached his hand up as if to touch it, but stopped himself before he made contact. Which would be fine, except that with every abortive move, his forearm rubbed over a nipple, and meant that before they'd even hit the first ad break, Eames' nipples were looking like they were about to tear through his shirt.

Arthur took a deep breath, a gulp of wine, and shovelled a giant spoonful of mousse into his mouth.

Eames gestured to the gas-powered grill on the counter top.

"Now, I know most people probably don't have one of these, and I'm not going to go all Gordon Ramsey on you over it, but they're kind of amazing. Means you can get that char-grilled effect without having to fire up the barbecue, but the food will taste fine if you just do it on a griddle pan. I mean, it's asparagus, it's probably going to taste great no matter what you do with it."

He carefully laid out all the asparagus and sliced bell peppers next to the grill, waiting for it to heat up, before pulling another chopping board towards him. On it were two plump, perfect duck breasts. He picked on up and started to trim the excess fat off.

"I know this looks like a lot of fat left on, but trust me on this one, you don't want to get rid of too much. You will endlessly regret it. Likewise, duck has to be cooked only till it's pink in the middle. If you're one of those people who likes their meat dry and well-done, just... Well, I suppose I can't _stop_ you eating duck, but you'll be making me very sad."

He carefully laid the two duck breasts down again, absent-mindedly running his hands over the tops of them.

" _Beep_ ing amazing, right? I tell you what, if real breasts were anything like this perfect, I might be into them. Except that makes me sound like a cannibal, which probably isn't what I'm going for, so let’s forget I said that, right?"

He carefully sliced small cuts into the duck skin and laid them fat-down into the smoking frying pan. His eyes closed for a second just as the sizzle started.

"You want to cook them most of the way through on this side, before turning them at the last minute. Need the fat to get all perfect and crispy. While that's going though..."

He moved the vegetables onto the grill and pulled out some balsamic and almonds, setting them aside to work on some scallops.

"You have to do these in butter, okay? I know some places – like America – it seems like every recipe has either an entire dairy's worth of cream and butter in there, or absolutely not a trace of fat, but there's a middle ground, right? You need to do these in butter, because anything else just won't do at all. And take them off the heat before they're fully done, or by the time you eat them they'll be overcooked?."

The kitchen was obviously hot, and Arthur missed a good half of the scallop recipe watching a sweat drop as it slowly worked it's way down Eames' temple to soak into the neck of his t-shirt. By the time he managed to tune back into what was actually happening, Eames was de-glazing the duck pan with the balsamic, almonds, and some capers, and arranging everything neatly onto a square white plate. The scallops were sitting in a bowl of rustic vegetable broth.

Arthur's brain couldn't quite tell exactly what his mouth was watering over.

"Excuse my hands, but this is just..." Eames picked up a slice of duck, some asparagus, and a slice of pepper, rubbed it into the dressing, and shoved the whole lot in his mouth at once. After he swallowed, he licked down the full length of his palm to capture any stray dressing.

"There's something about eating with your hands, right? See you next time."

*****

>   
> 
> 
> _so did he say what i thought he said?  
>  posted by foodiegirl_  
> 

>   
>  _umm... i think he did? if what you think he said was that he’s a homo  
>  posted by princess43_   
> 

>   
>  _dude not cool don’t say homo  
>  posted by lady grey_   
> 

>   
>  _i think it’s adorable  
>  posted by foodiegirl_   
> 

>   
>  _i think it’s gross  
>  posted by princess42_   
> 

>   
>  _i think you’re gross  
>  posted by iheartcake_   
> 

>   
>  _You guys, remember to keep things civil. No personal attacks, on other members or any of the chefs.  
>  posted by Maintainer_   
> 

> *****

Ariadne texted him ten minutes before the show started.

_Sooooo sorry, can't make it this week, something's come up. I have a feeling you'll enjoy this one just fine on your own though ;)_

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Arthur sighed heavily and looked through his cupboards. He had the big screen tv, so it was Ariadne’s job to bring the wine. Arthur only had half an old bottle of gin in his cupboard, but it would have to do for now. Fucking Ariadne.

When the show started, Arthur had to grab his remote to make sure it was the right channel. Instead of the usual kitchen, Eames was standing in the middle of a warehouse.

“The thing about meat is that you have to remember that something died to feed you. I'm not saying you should become a vegetarian or nothing, but so often nowadays we only eat the expensive parts of the animal. So today, we're going to be looking at all the different things you can do with the rest of the pig."

He picked up a meat cleaver, and Arthur sloshed about three inches of gin into his glass.

"Not just me though. I'm not quite fully qualified for this sort of stuff, so my friend James -" he gestured towards another man, smaller and slighter then himself "- is going to be supervising."  
James was wearing a white chef's jacket with what looked like years of blood stains built up on it. Eames was wearing the same grey t-shirt.

"Seems like I've been saying this a lot lately, but obviously I'm only doing this because it's just us and the camera, and blood does stain like _beep_ , and this is my favourite t-shirt, so..."

And then _he pulled his t-shirt over his head_.

Arthur dropped his glass.

Eames spent the first half-hour slowly dismembering the pig under James' supervision, pointing out all the different and under-used parts. Arthur wasn't paying attention though, because he'd been hard as a rock ever since Eames reached for his hem.

By the time they'd finished butchering and the cameras has switched back to the usual kitchen so Eames can show how to cook some of these unusual cuts, Arthur's pants were around his thighs. They'd obviously shot this part _right after_ the warehouse segment, because Arthur could see the sweat that had collected against Eames' collarbones soaking through his t-shirt, and his eyes fluttered shut without his permission as he wrapped his hand around himself.

On screen, Eames was slowly stirring something in a pot, constantly tasting from his wooden spoon and having to lick the stray drops from his lips. When he finally got the seasoning right, his eyes closed with a look of such perfect _satisfaction_ that Arthur couldn't really help himself, and came all over his hand.

This time, Eames didn't eat with his fingers, instead holding the steaming plate of _whatever_ close to his face as he ate from a fork, talking with his mouth full like the food was so amazing he couldn't even manage to swallow before talking about it. But by then, Arthur's attention span was well and truly shot.

*****

Arthur is not ashamed to admit he downloaded episode three and watched it at least four more times before episode four came out.

*****

>   
> 
> 
> _Oh Em Gee. Did you see that?  
>  posted by Katelynn_  
> 

>   
>  _ummm you no hes gay right??  
>  posted by princess43_   
> 

>   
>  _So? He's still like, massively fit.  
>  posted by iheartcake_   
> 

>   
>  _but it's not like you have a chance  
>  posted by princess43_   
> 

>   
>  _Because I had such a massive chance before, you mean?  
>  posted by Katelynn  
> _   
> 

*****

Ariadne flopped down on the couch beside Arthur.

"You know because this is a British series originally, there's only three more episodes, right?"

"I know."

"So, what are you going to do when it's over?"

"Ari, it's not like I'm obsessed or anything."

"So you wouldn't be interested that he's doing a signing at B&N next weekend, right?"

Arthur gulped. "Maybe."

"Of course, it's a ticketed event, and apparently they were all gone in half-an-hour."

"Oh. Okay. That's fine then. I'm not desperate to see him, or anything."

Ariadne grinned widely and pulled two slightly crumpled tickets out of her pocket.

"That's fine then. I'll just give this spare to my sis-"

He grabbed it out of her hand before she could even finish the sentence.

She raised a laughing eyebrow. "Not obsessed or desperate or anything at all."

"I still have all of _Nigella's Feast_ on my DVR _just in case_ you decide to re-watch it, so you can just shut right up.”

Ariadne just laughed again, before filling his glass nearly to the brim and turning the tv on.

The usual countertop was nearly entirely clear, only a few items on a chopping board.

“So I promised you all I’d show you risotto, right? Because it’s pretty much the most amazing thing ever, and everyone should know how to make it. It’s not hard really, though it kind of looks it. Mainly it’s just time consuming, but that’s easily dealt with. This is not the kind of thing you cook if you’re in a hurry, this is something you cook when you want to enjoy the process as much as the meal.”

He clapped his hands together. “First, we make stock. You’ll need a saucepan.”

He reached up to pull a pan off the hanging rack, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a flash of skin and yet another tattoo.

“So, stock. You can, of course, use bought-in stuff, if you want. But try not to. Stock’s another one of those things that sends people into a panic, but it really shouldn’t. You can either make it in advance – after you’ve had a roast, just _beep_ the bones into a pot with some onions and carrots and boil it ‘til it falls apart, it freezes fine – or just make it on the spot.”

He put the pan on the stove top and pulled the chopping board over.

“This is basic vegetable stock – you can use any kind you want, in theory, though I’d avoid lamb or beef unless the recipe specifically calls for it, and I’d only use chicken if I was sure I wanted that strong a flavour – because I’m making prawn risotto, and you don’t want the stock taking over. Just chop your onions, carrots and celery up really small – use a blender or a grater if you’re not sure of your knife skills.”

He chopped up the vegetables on his board so tiny Arthur was amazed he’d managed it by hand.

“Then just sweat them in olive oil for a couple of minutes, add your water, and set it to simmer. Not quite as good as a long-cooked stock, but it’s totally fine for our purposes today. While that’s cooking away, you can get everything else ready. First, you open your wine.”

And then he twisted a corkscrew into the bottle of wine _put the bottle between his thighs_ and pulled the cork out in one smooth motion. It didn’t look like it’d taken any effort at all.

Arthur squirmed lower in his seat, suddenly _very aware_ of how close Ariadne was on the couch.

Eames poured himself a large glass.

“Not of course, that wine is vital – or at least, not a glass of it for yourself, it is vital in the actual risotto – but we’ll be here a while, we may as well enjoy ourselves.”

He knocked back a large mouthful, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and started chopping some onions.

“There is every chance I put too much onions and garlic in my food, if that’s actually possible. But they’re amazing – and yes, I’m fully aware of how many things I’ve said are amazing thus far, but they all are – so throw in as many as you want. And if you’re cooking for one of those people who doesn’t like onions – though those people really don’t deserve nice food – please, _please_ don’t leave them out. They’ll cook for long enough that they won’t even notice them, except to notice how fantastic everything tastes. If they ask, I’m giving you permission to lie to them. Unless they’re allergic of course, in which case, cook them something else. Risotto needs onions.”

He started sweating off the garlic and onions, checked his stock, and then pulled a pile of shrimp closer.

“Prawns. Again, amazing. You can, if you absolutely must, use the pre-cooked kind, in which case you’ll add them at the very end of the cooking process. But try and use raw, it’ll just be so much better. Now, depending on how big they are, you can cut them up smaller – these guys, I’ll probably go with into thirds – to make sure you’ve got them spread throughout. Pop them in with the onions when they’re nearly clear, and then we get to the most important part.”

He roughly shoved the chopping board to the side and pulled a bag of rice over.

“Now, I use carnaroli, but you can use arborio just fine, if that’s what you have. Just make sure it’s risotto rice, none of that long-grain _beep_ , right? That won’t do at all. We’re making here for about four people, so throw in about _this much_ , and start stirring _immediately_. You want to get the rice just a little translucent so it cooks properly, but not so far as burn, right? And when that’s done, you throw in some wine-” he emptied the remainder of his glass into the saucepan “-and keep _beep_ ing stirring, right? You’re not allowed stop stirring until we’re done. Once the wine’s been absorbed, we start with the stock, careful not to get any bits in, and keep stirring, _always stirring_ , over as low a heat as you can get. We don’t want the liquid of evaporate, we want it to absorb.”

He stared down into the saucepan, and the expression on his face shifted slightly.

“I started cooking when I was young right, with my mum. But we never cooked this, because was way back, you probably couldn’t even get carnaroli in England back then. But then when I was a bit older, and I was working the _beep_ est job in the world – seriously, being a kitchen porter's a good way to get started in cooking, but it's _beep_ ing rough as all hell – and I had this... this friend, who was half-Italian, and one day, his mom sits me down and tells me-" he switched into a flawless Italian accent "-Eames, this is an intolerable state of affairs. You cannot wish to be a chef and not know how to make risotto-" and back to his own voice "- so she showed me how. And this isn't exactly her recipe – I never wrote it down, and I've probably added stuff and left stuff out over the years – but in spirit, this is still the same risotto she taught me to make, way back when."

He looked back up at the camera, seeming to just realise it was there, and his face switched back to its usual open smile.

"But I digress. Keep an eye on this while you're stirring – _always stirring_ – and you should see it start to dissolve slightly into this wonderful creamy mixture. That's why we're always stirring, otherwise you won't get the texture right."

He spent the rest of the show slowly stirring his risotto to perfection, talking away about different kinds of rice, and starch contents and different side dishes and how exactly you should prepare your bowls, but every time he tasted the food to check how it was coming along, a little of that faraway expression crept back into his expression. When he finally served the food up at the end of the show, spooning mounds of sticky creamy rice into the pre-heated bowls and adding tiny knobs of butter and lashings of grated parmesan cheese, the expression was nearly back in full.

He picked a bowl up and held it right under his chin, stirring it to get all the butter and cheese melted in.

"Now, this is why you should try your best to use raw prawns. The pre-cooked kind will taste fine, but one of my favourite things about prawns is that slight _pop_ when you bite into them, almost like they're a fruit. Wonderful stuff."

He popped a piece of shrimp into his mouth and closed his eyes blissfully.

"Perfect."

Arthur was still staring at the screen when Ariadne switched the tv off.

"Do you think that's what he looks like when he comes?"

"Ari!"

"Chill. I’m just trying to make sure you max out on all your dirty thoughts before the signing, so you don’t just throw up on him in some kind of erotic short-circuit.”

“ _What the hell?_ ”

“Or something else. You might not throw up. Maybe you’ll just pass out, or drool everywhere. Whatever it’ll be, it’ll be embarrassing, so I’m trying to forestall it.”

“Look, I know I had my... moments, in college, but that was six years ago, and I like to think I’ve managed to get a handle on myself since then.”

“Of course you have.” She got up and stretched. “Keep saying it, maybe it’ll come true. I’ll see you Wednesday, try to look sexy.”

“I hate you.”

*****

>   
> 
> 
> _  
> did you see his face when he started talking about his ex’s mom? that was soooooo sad  
>  posted by iheartcake_  
> 

>   
>  _how do u no it was his ex maybe it was just a friend?  
>  posted by omnomnomie_   
> 

>   
> _Dude, did you_ see _his face? And the way he kind of caught himself on the word? OF COURSE it was his ex.  
>  posted by Katelynn_  
> 

>   
>  _SO WHO ELSE IS GOING TO THE SIGNING AT B &N?  
>  posted by foodiegirl_   
> 

>   
>  _u got a ticket? i hate you so much  
>  posted by omnomnomie_   
> 

>   
>  _I’m going!  
>  posted by Katelynn_   
> 

>   
>  _I hate you both.  
>  posted by iheartcake._   
> 

>   
>  __  
> 

Arthur really needed to stop reading the message boards.


	2. Chapter 2

“Dude, you really need to stop posting on those message boards. They’re rotting your brain.”

Arthur shoved his phone into his pocket. “I don’t _post_ on them, I just _read_ them.”

Ariadne rolled her eyes. “Still rotting your brain. What’s even on them? Just a constant stream of squealing teenagers arguing about whether Eames is hotter then Bobby Flay?”

Arthur peered around the bookshop, slightly distracted. “Well that just proves you don’t know what you’re talking about, because there isn’t a single person on the entire internet who would argue that Bobby Flay is hotter then Eames.”

“Do you think that now there’s a book, he’ll have to tell people what his full name is?”

“I doubt it.”

She rolled her eyes again. “The start time isn’t for another fifteen minutes, you’re not going to see him. You need to stop acting like you’re fifteen, or I’m going to leave you here.”

“Fine. Sorry. I’ll behave myself.”

“You’d better.”

Despite his promise, and the clearly visible clock and start time hanging on the wall, Arthur still managed to fidget his way through the remainder of the wait time. He managed to restrain himself from joining the surge forward when the queue finally started to move, but it was a near thing.

“Can you see him?”

“This is not you behaving yourself.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“You seriously need to get yourself a new boyf-”

“I’m pretty sure we agreed that topic was off the table.”

“I’m pretty sure I agreed to no such thing.”

Arthur sighed and peered through the crowd again.

"The show's only on another two weeks, all right? After how many seasons of Nigella, you can cut me some slack, okay?"

"Fine. Two more weeks."

They were the front of the queue when Ariadne darted in front of him, skipping up to the table and leaving Arthur standing and waiting. He could see Eames smile his wide, dazzling smile at Ariadne as he signed her book, asking her a question and laughing when she answered it.

And then Ariadne _turned around slightly and pointed him out_.

Eames eyes flashed over him for a second before turning back to Ariadne, smiling again, and shaking her hand. She walked away from the table, and now it was his turn. His turn, and he was already as red as a tomato.

He was going to _fucking kill her_.

"So, you must be Arthur."

His voice in person was slightly rougher then on the tv, which made sense in an abstract way – he'd presumably been giving interviews that morning, and there had been a good fifty people ahead of them in the queue. Except that Arthur wasn't really capable of thinking in abstracts at the moment, and had to shift his messenger bag slightly in front of him.

"Yes. Arthur. That's me. Arthur. I mean... Yes."

Eames grinned up at him, his eyes twinkling, and held his hand out. Arthur stared at him for a moment, before he realised Eames was asking for the book, and handed it over.

"You're a fan of the show then?"

"Yes. Obviously."

"Obviously, eh? Is it that hard to imagine someone not liking it?"

"No, I just meant that because otherwise I wouldn't be here... and you're joking, aren't you."

Eames grinned again. "Just a bit, yeah. So tell me, _Arthur_ , what's your favourite episode?"

He should probably have stopped to think, but instead, he just blurted out "the one with the pig."

"Oh yeah?" Eames leaned back slightly from the desk, rolling his pen between his fingers as he kept eye-contact. "And what was it about _that episode_?"

He actually did manage to stop and think before answering this time.

"Um... my local supermarket only carries the mainstream cuts. So it was... interesting... to see all the other things you can do."

Eames smiled widely again. "Well, glad that my show can prove to be... educational."

He leaned forward over the desk, about to say something else, when one of the handlers behind him coughed.

"Sorry. Looks like we're being hurried on."

He leaned over and scribbled something inside the book, before smiling back up at Arthur again.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Arthur."

Eames handed the book over and held out his hand. Arthur took it almost automatically, and Eames smiled again as he shook it.

"Enjoy the rest of the show."

And it was probably Arthur's imagination, but he felt like Eames held his hand for slightly longer then necessary.

*****

He didn't quite notice Ariadne dragging him out of the bookshop until she shoved him into a seat in Starbucks and laughed.

He scowled. "You're just lovely, you know that? What did you even say to him about me?"

"Oh, just that I was here with my friend Arthur, who has an absolutely massive crush on him and so if he wouldn't min-"

" _You didn't_."

"Relax. Of course I didn't. I just mentioned that we were both big fans of the show. Now shut up and read your cookbook."

Arthur flicked through the glossy pages. Each recipe had a full-page picture facing it, and they all started with a short story about where the recipe – or its inspiration – had come from. Scattered throughout the pages were more shots of Eames – one opening a wine bottle like he had on the risotto episode, one holding a giant fish in his hands, wiggling his finger in where the throat had been cut, one of him standing with what appeared to be a crowd of butchers and holding an entire cured ham, and one of him _cuddling a lamb_.

Eames was clearly utterly ridiculous.

Arthur absent-mindedly flipped to the front page, wondering if Eames signed his name in all lowercase, when he noticed a long string of digits under his name. It took him a couple of seconds to realise that the first few were an international dialling code, and another couple after that to realise that that meant that this was _Eames' phone number._

He spat a mouthful of coffee back into his cup so he wouldn't choke, and tried to close the book before Ariadne realised what he'd seen.

It didn't work. She snatched the book out of his hands.

" _dear arthur. 0044-778-4938-871 eames xxx_ Oh my god. Are you going to call him? You're going to call him. Why haven't you called him yet?"

"What? Of course not. He probably wrote that on every book he signed."

"Not in mine."

"You're a woman."

"I really don't think he gave _his cell number_ to every guy at the signing. That would just be stupid."

"Then it's probably not even his real number."

"Only one way to find out!"

She reached across the table and snatched Arthur's cell phone, dialling before he could grab it back.

"He's still signing. It won't even be on."

"That's perfect. Puts the ball back in his court."

Her eyes lit up and she pressed the phone to Arthur's ear just in time for him to hear the tail end of the message in Eames' unmistakable voice.

"... so if you'll just leave me a quick message, I'll get back to you as soon as I possibly can. Thanks. _Beeeeep_."

He just stared blankly at Ariadne until she started waving her hands dramatically.

"Oh, hi. This is Arthur. Arthur from the book signing, in case you know any more Arthurs. Um, my number's 917-243-9818, but I might be at work later. If I'm at work, I'll call you back. Okay. Bye."

He hung up and dropped the phone on the table. Ariadne looked over at him, shaking her head.

"Smooth."

"Go fuck yourself."

*****

When Arthur got back to the office, he was suddenly handed three different things that had to be finished immediately, and by the time he was able to check his phone again, it was nearly five hours later, and he had a new voicemail.

"Hello there. I do in fact, not know any other Arthur's, but even if I did, I feel I should remember you specifically. I assume you're working, so I'll leave you be, but ring me back when you have a chance. This is Eames by the way. Eames from the book signing, just in case you know any other Eameses."

Arthur just stared at his phone. How the fuck was he supposed to answer that? He checked his watch – it was nearly seven, there was probably no chance Eames' phone would go straight through to voicemail now.

He took a deep breath, imagined what Ariadne would say if she knew he was even _thinking_ of not replying, and pressed 'call'.

"Hello?"

"Hi. It's..."

"Arthur, Arthur from the book signing, yeah? I was wondering if you were going to call me back."

"I'm sorry, but I was just in work, and there were so many things to do and this is the first moment I've-"

"Arthur, Arthur, it's fine. I'm just teasing you."

"Oh. Okay."

"I was just calling to see if you were free tonight."

Arthur glanced up at the clock. "If I manage to make it out of the office before my boss gives me something else to do, probably."

"Excellent. I'll come pick you up. Where are you?"

Arthur rattled out his office's address on autopilot, before collapsing back into his chair when the call clicked off. He glanced down at his clothes. Thank god today had been a meeting day, or who knows what he'd have been wearing.

Still, he pulled a mirror out of his desk and attacked his hair, flattening it back down to its start-of-the-morning shape, before all the stress of the last few hours had set it somewhat free. He looked at his watch. He really should get out of here as soon as possible, or he was never going to escape. But then, he didn't know how long Eames would take to arrive, and he didn't want to just be standing around on the pavement downstairs, waiting for him to drive by. But he glanced up from his desk to see his boss slowly moving through the cubicles, and just threw everything he might need that night into his bag before rushing out the door.

Luckily, he wasn't waiting long before a car pulled up, and Eames rolled down the back window.

"Hop in. There's this amazing Kenyan place I've got to try."

The car drove them down tiny side streets, finally leaving them outside a building where steps lead down to a basement restaurant. It was packed full of people eating, with even more waiting at the entrance, but Eames had obviously rang ahead, because they were shown to a table almost immediately, and he waved the menu away and just asked the waitress to bring them whatever was fantastic.

On second thoughts, maybe the waitress had recognised him, because it was less then ten minutes before their table was practically groaning with food. Eames carefully rolled his sleeves away from his wrists, gestured for Arthur to do the same, and grinned.

“Eating with your hands, y’know?”

Arthur blushed slightly and reached for some food, trying to pick up it up without getting himself too messy – something which Eames was obviously far less concerned about as he grabbed tiny bits of everything with abandon.

“Course, calling it “Kenyan” food is a bit of a misnomer, right? Like, what does that even mean? Kenya’s way too fucking big and varied to have one kind of food, yeah? – man , you have to try this, it’s fucking amazing – so this is all mainly from the south-west, around Mombasa – this as well, but drink something first, you don’t want to have all the other flavours in your mouth – lots of Indian fusion stuff, some old-fashioned British influences. The bloke who owns it, Yusuf, I met him way back, when I was still training, he grew up over there, his parents emigrated from Bangladesh – well, what’s _now_ Bangladesh – just before he was born. He’s got another place in LA – Hey, could we get some more of _this_ and a little of … _this_? Thanks love. – Which is way fancier, all interior-designed and shit, looks like he’s going to get a star in the next edition, but I like this place better, the place in LA makes me use cutlery. Yusuf's the one who got be back into cooking, actually. After... after Christian, I was a bit of a mess. But he kind of smacked some sense into me before I could do anything too stupid. What do you think?”

It took Arthur a second to realise that had been a question, and another couple to tear his attention away from Eames’ fingers as he licked the last traces of something off his fingers.

“It’s good. Different. Good.”

Eames grinned delightedly, rolled up some ugali and dipped it into one of the many plates of food, and held his hand out to Arthur.

“Try this, it’s the best thing on the menu. There are people who queue up for hours, just for this.”

He batted Arthur’s hand away when he tried to pick up some for himself, holding his hand further out until Arthur leaned forward and very carefully ate the ugali out of his fingers.

Or tried to eat it carefully, anyway.

Instead, Eames fingers brushed against his lips, and Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed. He licked the last traces of food off the tips, trying to separate out the flavours and textures of Eames’ skin from the food. 

When Eames finally pulled his hand away, Arthur blinked his eyes open. Eames’ pupils were blown wide as he slowly raised his hand to his own mouth to link the final traces off his fingers.

Arthur coughed, pulling his eyes out of Eames’ gaze before glancing up again.

“So, Arthur. What do you do?”

Arthur blushed and looked down again. “Um... I’m a forensic accountant.”

Eames raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“Well, I work for the police department, so I track embezzlement and illegal payments, off-shore accounts... If money is linked into a crime, and someone’s trying to hide it, or come up with a fake reason for why they have it. So I have to track back through all their financial history. Sometimes it’s just bank accounts, but right now I’m working on a fraud case that involves a lot of stock market transactions and private business investments, so...”

He trailed off. “Sorry. It’s kind of boring.”

“No, it’s fascinating.”

It was Arthur’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

Eames grinned. “Honestly? Not really. But you sound fascinat _ed_ , which is more important.”

“Yeah, well...”Arthur fiddled with the edge of his plate. “I'd rather talk about food.”

“Yeah?”

“What happens in episode five?”

“That'll spoil all the fun.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can just google it, you know.”

“Ah, but if you were going to do that, you'd have done it already.”

Arthur took a mouthful of wine and looked at Eames from under his eyelashes. “Maybe I just want to hear _you_ talk about it.”

Eames held his gaze for a long moment before carefully waving down the waitress.

“Sorry to dash off like this darling, but could you bring us the bill?”

“Mr. Bilkar says it's on the house.”

“Right. Then this -” he pulled a bunch of twenties out of his pocket “-is for you, and tell Yusuf it was fabulous, as always.”

He pulled Arthur to his feet and gently but swiftly led him out of the restaurant.

Outside, he pulled Arthur closer to his side and hailed down a cab.

“What would you say if I asked you back to my hotel?”

Arthur smiled and pulled Eames even closer. “I'd say that my apartment is ten blocks closer, and doesn't have any paparazzi.”

Eames grinned. “I'd say that was the perfect answer.”

Inside the cab, Eames reached across the divide to run his fingers along the seam of Arthur's trousers, careful never to move too high. Arthur kept his eyes glued to the back of the cab driver's head, worried he'd lose his cool – or his nerve – if he looked over. 

At his apartment, Arthur nodded a dazed hello to his doorman and nearly screamed when they were followed into the elevator by three of his neighbours, and that was even before two of them recognised Eames.

They squealed, and begged for his autograph, and they were held up at Arthur's floor for _five full minutes_ as Mrs. Papadakis from 1113 begged Eames's advice on yorkshire puddings for when her English son-in-law came to visit.

When they _finally_ made it inside Arthur's apartment, he had to lean against the door with his eyes closed for a second, to centre himself. When he opened his eyes, Eames was standing a couple of steps away, watching him.

“So. This is your apartment.”

“Yeah. Do you want a tour?”

“Maybe later. Right now, I just want to do _this_.”

He took a step closer, slid his hands to the small of Arthur's back, and pulled him in.

“Is that okay?”

Arthur blinked for a second. “Completely okay.”

Eames slid his mouth against Arthur's, nudging at the crease of his lips until his mouth opened, then pressed in until they had to break apart to catch their breath.

“You're not one of those people who like to bring food into the bedroom, are you?”

“God no.” Arthur gasped as Eames' hands went to work on his buttons. “I imagine everything would be either syrup based – and therefore would crystallise when it dried and get stuck in body hair – or dairy based – which will melt and leave my bed smelling like spoiled milk.”

“Spectacular answer.”

Eames popped Arthur's last button and leaned in to fasten his mouth over his collarbone. Arthur moaned and his head dropped back to knock against the wall.

“Right.” Eames pulled away for a moment. “Where's your bedroom?”

Arthur wordlessly pointed down the hallway, and let himself be led there.


	3. Chapter 3

When he woke up, Arthur stretched out across his bed and frowned slightly when his arm met empty sheets. Which was stupid, he knew – incredibly hot tv stars were unlikely enough to follow you home, let alone still be there in the morning – but his stomach still clenched.

Until he heard a clattering from his kitchen, followed by a low whistle.

Eames popped his head through the door. “You know, for someone who loves food, you've fuck-all of it.”

Arthur pulled a shirt on and followed him into the kitchen.

“I don't have much time. I get a lot of take out.”

“That you do. Your fridge is overflowing with the stuff. The only things you have to eat that aren't pre-cooked are a rather lonely bunch of spring onions, some eggs, five kinds of cheese – none of which is enough for a sandwich on its own – the tiniest bit of butter I've ever seen, what appears to be about a small glass of milk, and a gigantic bag of flour. Who the hell has four pounds of flour before they have bread?”

Arthur blushed and pulled himself up to sit on the counter.

“Ariadne got a little excited watching _Ace of Cakes_ a few weeks ago, and her oven's terrible.”

“What did you bake?”

“We didn't. Carrying the flour here kind of wore her out, so we ordered in.”

“Of course you did.”

Eames pulled open one of the cupboards and started pulling stuff out. “Do you mind?”

“God no. Do whatever you want.”

Eames smiled happily and pulled the entire raw contents of Arthur's kitchen out onto the countertop. He tossed Arthur a couple of blocks of cheese.

“Make yourself useful and grate that, okay?”

Arthur found his cheese grater – which he did apparently own – and a plate and started carefully grating the cheese as Eames busied himself mixing various things at the stove.

“Do you miss it?”

Arthur looked up. “Hmm?”

“Cooking. I mean, you couldn't get me to stop. Even if they stopped paying me for it.”

“I guess. I used to cook a lot when I was little. My big sister didn't want to learn, so my mom taught me instead. I kind of stopped when I got to college – can't cook much in a dorm, not if you don't want to risk getting kicked out, anyway – and I never really picked it up again. There's just a lot of food around the place. So these days, the closest I get is watching food network.”

“What's the first thing she taught you to make?”

Arthur smiled as he grated the last of the cheese. “Latkes. I was five, so she didn't let me do much, the first time – I wasn't allowed to grate anything, and I obviously wasn't allowed to go near the oil – but she let me squish the grated potato into shape before she cooked them, and let me stand on a little step ladder so I could see them cooking without being near enough to get hurt.”

Eames took the cheese off him and tipped it into the pot. “How did they taste?”

“Amazing. I ate so many of them I was nearly sick before we lit the candle. And my grandmother said they were the best she'd ever had, and Rebecca pouted all night and said that everyone was just saying that to make me feel better.”

“God, sisters are horrible, aren't they?”

“Always.”

Eames leaned back against the counter and started furiously whisking something. “When was the last time you made them?”

Arthur fiddled with the hem of his shirt for a moment, thinking. “It's been... I don't know. I don't always make it home, and my mom... her arthritis kind of stops her cooking much, so it's usually my sister who does the cooking with her kids, so...”

He trailed off, watching Eames mix various things together in a bowl before sliding whatever it was into the oven.

“What about you?”

“First thing I learned to cook? Probably porridge – oatmeal – in the microwave, if that counts? Probably not. Scrambled eggs, probably. My mum would set me up by the stove and just let me stir very very carefully, until they were barely coagulated, because she liked them practically gooey, but couldn't be bothered with all the stirring herself. And fairy cakes, which are like cupcakes, but way, way better, because they have _jam_ on them. And then jam, when I was eleven. That's how I got this scar.”

He held up his hand to show Arthur a faded pattern of circular scars on the side of his left hand.

“Some of the sugar escaped from the pot when I was looking the wrong way.”

“What kind of jam?”

Eames grinned widely. “Raspberry.”

“So it was worth it, then?”

“It's always worth a small scar for homemade jam.”

“I've never made jam at home.”

“Jam is one of the easiest things in the world – minor scarring notwithstanding – it just takes a little paying-attention-to. All you have to remember is -”

A timer binged and Eames leaned down to pull open the over. Arthur stared.

“You made _souffles_? In my kitchen? With my ingredients?”

Eames carefully wrapped the bottom of the ramekin in a dishtowel and handed it to Arthur. “Your ingredients didn't give me much choice, did they? It was these, or omelettes. And omelettes aren't impressive at all.”

Arthur took a spoonful and closed his eyes as the creamy cheese and hint of tangy spring onions washed across his tongue.

“This is amazing.”

Eames shrugged, blushing very slightly, and ate his own souffle. Arthur had barely finished his, still scraping the last traces out of the bottom of the dish when it was taken off him as Eames moved to stand between his knees.

“Hi.”

Arthur blushed again. “Hi.”

Eames trailed his hands up Arthur's legs to rest just at the edge of his boxers, his fingers playing gently with the hems.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Eames laughed gently. “I think that's allowed, yes.”

“What did Ariadne really say to you about me at the signing?”

He grinned. “She said that you were her friend Arthur, and that you had a massive crush on me, and –”

Arthur thumped his head against Eames' shoulder and groaned. “I'm going to have to kill her.”

Eames pulled Arthur's face around and kissed him. “Leave her be. I was probably going to write my number in your book anyway.”

Arthur stiffened slightly. “Do you... do that a lot?”

“Define 'a lot'?”

“More often then not?”

Eames paused to consider. “I'd say slightly less often. It's not usually worth the hassle, but sometimes...”

He leaned in for another kiss, but Arthur pulled back.

“I have to go to work.”

He slid off the counter, squeezed past Eames, and went back to the bedroom. He was staring into his wardrobe when he heard the floorboards behind him creak.

“Arthur? Is something...”

Arthur turned slightly, but didn't meet his eyes. “I... I have to shower. For work. I have to go to work. You can let yourself out, yeah?”

Eames looked at him for a second, before shaking his head and turning around.

The front door closed behind him with a solid _thunk_ , and Arthur gave himself thirty seconds to sit on his bed and stare blankly at the wall before he pulled himself to his feet and got into the shower.

*****

That night, Ariadne showed up with two bottles of wine.

“You have to tell me _everything_.”

“No. I don't. Do we really have to watch this?”

“Yes. You're not depriving me of my food network fix just because you had a bad date with the guy.”

“Fine. But no talking. And give me that wine.”

On screen, Eames was wearing a gigantic puffy jacket and standing in a field.

“So, we started with dessert before we moved on to mains, and now we're doing the farm after we've already done the butcher. But bear with me, yeah? This place is fantastic.”

Arthur estimated that a good 80% of the following hour was just Eames cavorting around the farm with various children and animals. Sure, there were discussions about ethical farming and what it truly means to be organic, but after watching Eames do an entire segment talking to camera with a happy chicken under each arm, the next time (the _fourth_ time) Eames got to his knees next to a baby animal and gave it what can only be described as a _snuggle_ , Arthur's general annoyance must have made itself known, because Ariadne muted the tv and glared at him.

“What the fuck happened?”

“No talking.”

“Yeah. No. Talk.”

Arthur sighed and knocked back most of the rest of his wine. “It's nothing, Ari, okay? Just a... miscommunication.”

“A _miscommunication_? Like what? Was it some kind of creepy trawling-for-threesomes thing and he brought his boyfriend along? Or like, some _fucked up_ way-past-safe-words BDSM stuff? Or –”

“What the fuck? No, nothing like that.”

“Then _what_?”

She set her glass down and started insistently poking him in the side.

“Stop it.”

She kept poking him until he tried to wriggle free.

“Fine, fine. Just _stop that_.”

Ariadne pulled her hands back and smiled happily.

“It was just... I was right about him doing that a lot. Giving out his number at signings. I just felt...”

He trailed off, and looked over at her. She had both her eyebrows raised.

“So... You're upset because the hot tv star who picked you up at a booksigning... Is the kind of person who sometimes picks up guys at booksignings?”

“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“Just when I say it like that?”

“No. I know it's stupid, all right. It's just... he took me to his friend's restaurant, and he told me all about Kenya, and his friend, and he _fed me_ in a not-creepy way, and then he made breakfast in my tiny, terrible kitchen with no proper food and just... It felt _special_ , for a little while. But if it's just something he does, with everyone, then... It kind of ruins it. Oh god. I sound like someone off _Gossip Girl_.”

Ariadne looked at him for a moment, and smiled sadly.

“You're allowed to want to feel special, you know.”

“It doesn't really seem that way.”

  
  


> hitting up nolita tonight one of my favourite plaves in NYC  
>  _posted by chefeames at 8.15pm_  
> 

“Ariadne, what are we doing here? There's no way you can afford to eat here, even if we could get a table.”

“Ssh!” Ariadne balanced carefully on her bike to try and see in the windows. “Dammit.”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. I just thought I saw some guy I knew. Lets get pizza.”

> bull and bear tonight i think  
>  _posted by chefeames at 7.56pm_  
> 

_No. I'm not getting a tube to midtown just so we can be turned down at a restaurant._

_Pleeeeease_

_I'm going to start revoking your food network privileges if this is what it does to you._

_You're not my friend any more_

> not sure yet hitting up chinatown and recs?  
>  _posted by chefeames at 8.32pm_  
> 

Arthur pulled his plate towards himself and looked at Ariadne across the table.

“You want to tell me why we looked into pretty much every place in Chinatown before you finally settled on where you want to eat?”

“No particular reason.”

Arthur sighed. “You know, I read his twitter too.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“So it's just a coincidence that every time he tweets where he's eating you try and drag me to somewhere ridiculously out-of-the-way or expensive that just happens to be where he's supposed to be?”

She sighed. “I just think if maybe you _explain_ –“

“Explain what? 'I'm sorry I kind of implied you were a massive slut – which was very hypocritical of me, by the way, considering – but I'm sorry and hope you might want to go out with me again?'”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“That's not the way it works, Ari. You barely get one chance with amazingly attractive and successful people, and even if that chance was just to be remembered fondly, I blew it. So can we just stop all this?”

She looked at him for a long second before sighing again.

“Fine.”

*****

Technically, Arthur didn't have to work that day. But he wasn't in the mood to stay at home, and so sitting in the office was his best bet at distraction. At one fifteen, he stepped outside for lunch.

There was a hot dog cart at the end of the block. Which normally, he'd avoid, but there was something in the air that day that set off a craving, so he got in line.

He just paid and stepped away from the cart when he felt someone step up behind him.

“I see you're still dedicated to using all the parts of the animal.”

Arthur nearly dropped his hot dog as he whirled around.

“Arthur.”

“Eames.”

Arthur pulled his bag closer to himself and tried not to look like he was avoiding eye-contact.

“So, um... Are you enjoying New York?”

Eames raised an eyebrow.

“That's a really shit question, right? I mean, I presume you're enjoying yourself, you've been twittering enough about it...”

He trailed off. Eames was _looking_ at him.

“What?”

“You've been following my twitter?”

Arthur blushed. “Maybe.”

“I was pretty sure you were going to be avoiding anything to do with me.”

“Eames, I'm _sorry_. I shouldn't have said – done – said – I just shouldn't have, okay? It was just a stupid _thing_ that's my fault and I shouldn't have judged you because it wasn't really anything –“

Eames gently silenced Arthur with a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, Arthur... I'm not going to apologise for stuff I've done in the past, right? But I like you. I don't normally stay over and cook for random one-night-stands, all right? Especially not if their entire kitchen seems to be set up to make cooking anything as difficult as possible. But – and I can't believe I'm the one saying this, because you're the one who's been a tool – I do like you. And I would like to have dinner with you again.”

Arthur blushed and looked down at his shoes for a second, before looking up to catch Eames' eye.

“I would like that.”

Eames' smile was so wide it was dazzling.

“Excellent. Now put that thing down. If you're looking for a hot dog, there's this guy in the park...”

He slid his hand to the small of Arthur's back, and nudged him towards the nearest crosswalk.

Arthur let himself lean into the contact, and smiled.

 


End file.
